Dear Colleagues
by Soucoupuss
Summary: Dear Colleagues deals with serious crime, lust and corruption. Gavin Troy and Tom Barnaby are characters owned by Caroline Graham Midsomer Murders . The story itself is mine. Please, review. Kath M.
1. Chapter 1

He remembered the first time. Vaguely. But he remembered.  
He had had too many drinks, and somehow he had handcuffed himself. How - God only knew. Anyway, Tom had driven him home, had helped him out of the car and into his rooms, and had, pretending to be looking for the keys, pushed him onto his bed. Hands closely tied under him, Gavin had closed his eyes, blindly trusting his superior's words and permitting himself to doze off.  
And then, Tom had done something unexpected. Something so out of place it hit Gavin much too late. Through most of it, he was wondering if it was really happening or if he was imagining things - and then he realised what was going on and wanted to shout but found that he could not. Later, he was not even able to say if he had kept quiet because he had wanted to avoid being found in that situation or if Tom's fist had beaten all resistance out of him. Fear, pain, disgrace. He had felt dizzy and weak. And then it was over.  
"You know what'll happen to your career if you tell anybody," Tom had said in his usual calm voice. Still, the underlying threat could not go unmissed, and Gavin had nodded.  
Gulping, he had tried to get up, pain numbing his body, and more on instinct, he had whispered, "You hurt me" at which Tom had laughed. A cruel, heartless, maybe even satisfied, laughter and Gavin had fallen quiet again.

That was how it had started. And it had not nearly been like the events that followed, Gavin thought. He had really believed that it was over, that one dark episode in their working together would be it, could be put down as a one-off and could slowly be forgotten or at least locked away in his memory forever. But he had been wrong.  
With a shiver, he remembered the next time Tom Barnaby abused him.  
"You know what, Troy? I always thought I could truly rely on you," he said, and naïve as he was, Gavin eagerly declared that Tom could rely on him. The wrongest thing to say.  
"Is that so?" Barnaby stared at him, and Gavin nodded. After all, they were a good team. Even 'that night' had not changed that, he had made sure. Professional on the job - denying what a loser he was off it.  
"Lie back."

The younger man shivered. Images of that summer night forced their way back to his mind. He knew that he should not have drunk so much - but hey, with your DCI watching, you kind of felt safe. Or so he had thought and drunk far too much. The stress of the previous days, the guilt he had felt toward the victim he had not been able to rescue and the regret of losing another girlfriend to the job he loved (a regret he had tried to deny) had paved the way to it. And for a while he had been happy. The booze had given him a warm feeling of comfort, and Barnaby had patiently listened to his prattle. He had felt secure. That had been the worst bit.

Barnaby had driven him home, let them into his flat and even supported his unsteady walk. He had avoided the couch and other pieces of furniture and Gavin had, numbed thought that he was merely trying to stop him from walking into things. The sad truth was that all the time his boss had only wanted him in his bedroom - on his bed and out of his pants.

Gavin tensed and squeezed his eyes shut. He did not want to remember.

"Gavin!" A sharp voice hissed and he was back. Back there in his bedroom. Memories of a sudden fear and panic swept back brutally and he gulped. He had been sober instantly. The very instant that Barnaby had hit his face he had been wide awake. Panic had taken over when he realised that he had been handcuffed. He had known that this was no ordinary situation anymore and he had known what was about to happen. On instinct, he had tried to wiggle away but the older man had held him and started beating him.

Scared to death he had stopped struggling, faintly hoping to get away - but the stranger that Tom Barnaby, his DCI, had become, had had no intention of letting go. He had rolled him over. Gavin had tasted his own blood and prayed it would end. Barnaby had stripped him, bending his cuffed hands toward his neck that it hurt, and then he had raped him.

The younger man gulped again and closed his eyes, managing a low, "What?" in reaction to his superior asking his name.  
"Go on. Move your seat."  
"Why, sir?" His voice sounded weak, frightened maybe, and Barnaby smiled and told him that it was alright. Nothing was going to happen to him. And again he was stupid enough to believe him.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been there in the car that he had told his boss to leave him alone. When he started to unzip him, he had pushed him off and told him to stop. He remembered saying loud and clearly that he did not want this sort of relationship or whatever it was they were heading towards.  
An unflinching eye had met his, and Gavin had wished himself away, out of the car, out of the woods, into town, into safety. And he had known that there was no point in struggling because there was nowhere he could possibly run to. Barnaby would find him. So he had given in to rough touches and violent kisses, had lent the other one his body and had done his best ignoring the fact.  
"I want you to – always – do what I say, Troy," Barnaby had said, and he had acquiesced.  
"Always. Because a sergeant has to obey."  
"Yes, sir."  
"You know what, Troy?" Something cool and sharp touched his right arm and he looked down to see a razorblade being pressed into soft skin.  
"I actually like you," the blade cut his flesh and blood dribbled onto his suit, but Gavin did not wince, "Don't ever forget that". The blade cut deeper, and Gavin gulped gritting his teeth.


	3. Chapter 3

Ian staggered out into the hall and David followed watching him carefully. The other man seemed quite gone, and he felt a sudden urge to help him. He quickly closed the distance between them and found Ian's coat. Assisting his shuffling into it, he smiled and could not quite explain his sudden deep arousal. Eying the hall behind them, he inched closer and pressing the physically equally strong tall man into the coat hanger kissed him. Ian's struggle was weak and momentary, and he willingly melted into the offered lips and embrace.

David withdrew and shot an anxious glance around, and then he smiled at the young colleague in front. He looked irresistible – rolling his huge blue eyes at him and kiss-swollen lips shyly smiling back. It was then that he knew he had him, and he could not stop feeling happy and proud at the same time.

"I think we … should … probably … talk … about this," his opposite quietly said, and David nodded, "Your place? Or mine?"

Striking blue eyes widened with shock, and David nearly saw the fear and uncertainty in them, so he added, "Hotel would be fine, too".

Ian opened his mouth but found he was lost for words. He hardly knew David; still he had enjoyed the kiss – more than any previous one in his life. He was curious and at the same time afraid. Afraid of what might happen, and afraid of what might not happen, but most of all afraid of what the consequences might be. David seemed to understand as he gently pulled him out of the coats and towards himself.

"Listen," he whispered, "My flat's just around the corner. How about coming round, and we'll take it from there? – No strings attached". Ian nodded weakly and tattered forward, the other man's arm helpfully supporting his walk.

* * *

"How did you know I wouldn't punch you?" Ian asked caressing his teapot and staring into the hot drink. David was sitting opposite the side table and smiled at him declaring that he was good at his job and had done a bit of observing.

"You're puzzled, I can understand that," he added, "See, that's why I like the city so much: the anonymity of it. Gay, straight – so what, it's all about non-commitment … not that I wouldn't commit to you".

Ian gulped. He found it strange to suddenly, totally unexpectedly, fall and feel this strongly for another man.

"I bet you never kissed a guy before," David resumed, and he shook his head, "Then what? Older women? Your colleague's daughter? To keep up appearances. It's all been done before". Ian stared. _Was he so obvious?_

"It's your eyes that give you away. But I love that."

Slowly, the other man nodded and then coughed, "And can we, I mean …, was … that kiss just a way of getting me sober? Or is this –" _Serious? Something for one night? For the weekend? Forever?_ He had left his question unfinished, feeling silly and foolish and blushing. David smiled and rose to sit down next to him. Touching his hand and taking the mug from him he promised that 'this' would be for however long Ian wanted.

"And I liked the 'just'."

"What?"

David leaned forward to kiss Ian again and murmured into it, "The 'just' in 'was that kiss just a way of whatever' – that's a cute way of saying you liked it".

"I did," Ian moaned and answered the kiss reaching out for the other male body so close to his. David eased him out of his tie and shirt and was about to unbutton his trousers when the odd fear returned. Soothing him, David tugged gently and stripped him, leaving the inexperienced partner his boxer shorts. Ian's rasping breath told him he was doing the right thing, touching, squeezing, softly biting his way into the other one's lap encouraged by incoherent pleas of innocent desire.

"You sure you want to stay here?"

"Where?"

"On the couch," David laughed running the back of his right hand over a shivering leg, "I've got a bed, you know". Again, he found himself stared incredulously at, and his grin broadened, "I won't hurt you". There was mock in his voice, and he immediately felt sorry about it. He knew what Ian had to be going through – being torn between his conscience and the fear of the unknown - and pure lust, plain and simple. He hardly knew him, and if he wanted this to mean more than one night, he had better show the other one that it was no confidence trick he was playing.

"Okay," came a hesitant reply, and David slowly put his hand into his underpants.

"Sure?"

"Yes," was the much more convinced answer, and David could not help teasing the handsome guy into a violent climax. Panting heavily, Gavin gulped and looked at his partner. He was way past cognitive perception, but while part of him felt utterly embarrassed and ashamed by what was going on, another part of him enjoyed the ministrations of the other man.

"You certainly look happier," David stated and slowly got to his feet holding out his hands.

Shaking his head, Ian faced the floor and huffed that he did not even like 'poofters'.

"You don't have to … just be who you are," was the retort, "Come on".

"Could I get another pair of boxers … or whatever? – These are … sticky," he admitted, and David nodded and disappeared into another room, the bedroom possibly, only to return with a clean towel and some underwear.

"You've got the choice – something daring …," he held out a bright pink short and Ian made a face, "… or something airing?" He showed Ian a silver g-string. With a pained expression he took the pink item and got up, wondering where he could wash and change. Doing either in front of another man, no matter how hot, was out of the question.

"Bathroom," David pointed at another door, and relieved the other one vanished into the adjacent room.


	4. Chapter 4

When he woke, he found the king-size bed empty and sunlight streaming in through the big picture window. Moaning softly, he stretched and blinked, smiling quite happily after a good night's rest. Then reality dawned and slapped him across the face. He had made out with another guy. Worse, he had ended up in the other guy's bed. His arms. His underwear. He gulped and shivered when he tried to remember details. There had been quite a lot of snogging. Teasing and touching. But he was sure there had not been anything else. Or wasn't he? Shifting his body into a different position, he felt he was still wearing those shorts. Or again. He forced himself to think, but he could not remember anything else. And surely he would remember anal penetration. Would feel it, too, probably.  
Still, he had no explanation for still being here while Dennis was gone. Dennis? Or was it Daniel? He could not remember. A nasty voice inside his head cheered and sneered at him. Ian Bell, duteous policeman, male, straight, reliable, bureaucratic. And he of all people had it off with a stranger!  
The toilet flush cut into his thoughts, and he stared at the bathroom door. Moments later, a tall young man emerged and smiled down at him, inquiring how he was.  
Ian shrugged. If he had been honest, he would have had to admit that he felt lousy, used and corrupted, ashamed and worried. But honest people did not end up in a situation like this, he thought. Bugger.  
"I knew your heart wasn't in it," the other man said, and his voice sounded sad.  
"Hm?"  
David snorted, "You were drunk, and I took advantage. I'm sorry. I just thought you'd … . Sorry. Truly".  
Ian gulped. He had not expected such an easy way out of it. After all, he had enjoyed part of last night, "Why are you saying that?"  
"'cause I can see it in your eyes, stupid. You're scared, and you want to leave. I won't keep you. As for last night, you fell asleep … and I watched you. I didn't deflower you … as you have probably noticed," was the answer, and it felt like being punched into the stomach. Ian gaped and wished himself miles away. He was unable to think of anything sensible to say.  
"Don't – try and talk your way out of it. You enjoyed the kissing. No mistaking there. And you didn't mind me wanking you. Full-stop. That's where it ends," David smiled. He did not seem over-concerned about the preceding night, or maybe he was just convincing at hiding his feelings. Ian felt more and more miserable.  
"There's no point denying it. You don't even remember my name!"  
Ian still stared at the other one. Then he remembered and croaked that David had never told him his name. David laughed and told him to stop being ridiculous, "Don't make this more awkward than it already is, Ian. You can keep the shorts if you like".  
Nodding, Ian got up and took his clothes that were, to his great surprise, forming a neatly-folded stack next to the bed. He slid into the bathroom and got dressed.

When he came out, David was smiling at him caressing a coffee pot.  
"Want one?"  
Ian shook his head and said he had better be going. With slumped shoulders, he faced the door and then the other man again. David shrugged and drank. Then he sighed and put down his mug, "Well then, have a nice … life. Maybe we'll meet again".  
Ian bit his lip and stared. Hesitating for a minute, he stepped closer and quietly said that he would like that. And to his own surprise he bent forward and kissed David. As astonished, the latter pushed him off a little and looked at him curiously. Ian shrugged and managed a smile, "I think you'll have to be patient". Grinning, David took the other man's face in his hands and drew him close to kiss him again.


	5. Chapter 5

He did not remember when the pain had become too much to bear, but he knew that something had to be done. Reporting his boss to the Chief Superintendent would be the most sensible thing, though he could not be sure about the CS actually believing him. Surely, they would check his body for evidence - analyse cuts and bruises, probe into most intimate regions to verify his accusations. Gavin squeezed his eyes shut. Sensible, yes - but also humiliating. And what then? Would he go on working with Barnaby? Would they send him away? And where to? Would his new colleagues know?  
Taking a deep breath, he let his mauled body sink deeper into the hot water. Having a bath seemed to be the only relief from it all. In fact, it turned out to be the only thing he ever pulled himself together to doing after another day at work.  
Work. He had once loved his job, and he had been proud of being a policeman. Now he only felt ashamed. Although he knew that none of this was his fault, he felt guilty. Maybe if he hadn't been so cute, Barnaby would have ignored him. Maybe ...  
Gavin looked down at his chest, faintly scarred and in some places discoloured with bruising, and gulped. Why he? What had he ever done to the other one to deserve this?  
His boxers floated in the running water, and Gavin bent forward to turn the water off. It had been a while since he started leaving his boxers on in the bath. He could not bear the sight of himself, could not bear being a man and did not want to be reminded of the fact that he was.  
Slowly, he sank deeper and smiled. He remembered Cully. What was it that she had said the other day? To die, to sleep. Hamlet. Maybe this was the best way out of it. Maybe the easiest for all of them. And in that sleep of death to think we end the heartaches and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.  
He bent his knees and let his head glide under water. What now? Count the seconds? Minutes perhaps? One, two. He thought of Cully and of their visit to the playhouse. Three, four, though more likely six, seven. Counting was too hard. How long would it take? He thought of the green fields of Midsomer in spring, of flocks of sheep, of the lovely smell of the fresh air. He was not sure if it would be his brain exploding or his heart stopping or both - at the same time or one following the other, he did not know, and it did not matter. Strange that he did not see pictures of Barnaby or images of 'those nights'. He tried to remember but his memory was blank. He could think of names. And then he passed out.

Strong arms pulled at his limp body, grabbed him by the shoulders and wrapped around his chest. His head fell back and hit the edge of the tub when he was dropped to the floor. Someone went to great lengths calling him back to life. Once they had found a weak pulse, they started CPR, forcing him to cough up water and to breathe, and his body responded.  
Slowly coming to, coughing and panting for air, Gavin tried to see. Through fluttering lashes there was the blurred image of another person. He closed his eyes and his breath evened. A strong hand slapped his face and he tried once more to focus.  
"Gavin," he knew that voice and wished he did not, "For heaven's sake. Why did you do that?!" Of all people, why did he have to find him? Why did he think he did it? For fun?  
He wanted to tell him, tell him to bugger off, to leave him alone, to go away, but he felt too weak for any of the options. Gulping he opened his eyes again and looked at Barnaby who knelt beside him eying him suspiciously. Why had he saved him?  
"I hate you," he whispered, and the older man's eyes narrowed.  
"Do you?"  
Gavin nodded faintly. He had not expected the other one to yank him up and grab his hair to push him over the edge of the tub and force his head under water. Gavin tried to struggle, wanted to push himself away but his hands slid off the moist walls and he lost balance. Tumbling forward he screamed and swallowed water. So this was the end now, he thought when Barnaby pulled him up again, let go of his hair and pushed him to the floor.  
Gavin coughed and gasped.  
"You're not telling me you hate me again, are you?"  
Gavin shook his head.  
"What are you telling me then?"  
What did he expect? Gavin felt defeated. He could not even take his own life. He really sucked.  
"Thank you, sir," he quietly said, and Barnaby nodded. He got up and left the young man leaning against the bathtub, staring but unseeing.


	6. Chapter 6

She looked at Gavin sympathetically and gently touched his shoulder. Her eyes looked warm with a hint of curiosity in them which he did not wish to satisfy. Which he could not satisfy. How could he possibly tell her -?  
"What's wrong with you?" she asked and held his gaze until he looked away and started biting his lower lip.  
"I - can't - tell you," he finally managed, adding, "Your dad ...". What?  
"Knows," feeling cowardly he shook his head and sighed, and Cully nodded. She would ask her dad. She could see that something was horribly wrong here, and something had to be done.

* * *

"Dad - what's wrong with Gavin?"  
Barnaby pouted and heaved a sigh. He had always known that this day would come, and he now knew that this was not going to be easy. But Cully would never give up until he had told her, so he began:  
"I ... know it was wrong, and I am ... truly sorry. But - I couldn't help it. We ... had been out and he had far too much to drink, so I - drove him home and let us in, and there he was - completely drunk. He'd even handcuffed himself accidentally. It was ridiculous. And - you know me, probably better than I do myself. I always felt strongly for him, and - God - he was so handsome lying there, so I ... took advantage of the situation."  
Cully gaped and was not quite sure if she had got him right, "You raped him?"  
"I wouldn't call it that..."  
"DAD!"  
"I said I was sorry... I shouldn't have ... but it's too late for that now, isn't it?"  
"DAD! Have you seen him? He's miserable!"  
"I know."  
"You should talk to him."  
"He'll be all embarrassed."  
"So what?! You can't go on like nothing happened, can you?"

* * *

Gavin opened the door and stared at Cully Barnaby holding out some white roses to him. Surprised, he took the flowers and stepped aside to let her into the flat.  
"I know about the ... rape ... he told me," she said and clenched her hands. He sighed with relief. Strange that Barnaby should tell her openly about all this. Strange, too, that he did not feel at all exposed. He felt sorry for Cully knowing her dad for what he was. For what he could be.  
"It must have been terrible for you," she said and held out her hand to touch his. He nodded and she offered to listen if he needed to talk.

"Thanks," he croaked and nodded again, "I ... think I need a ... shower first. Why don't you just make yourself ... at - well". At home sounded out of place, but she understood and walked over to the sofa while Gavin walked away to have a few moments to himself before facing the dreadful conversation.

* * *

Drying his hair, the t-shirt slid up and gave a free view of his belly – very light skin, marked by dark bruises in some places – and Cully frowned, "What happened to your belly?"  
Gavin gulped and pulled down the shirt, knowing that she would not accept 'nothing' for an answer: "On some occasions he decided to burn me … on others he just … lashed his belt at me". "Who?" The moment she'd asked, Cully realised whom Gavin was talking about, and she felt sick. Her dad had never mentioned torture.  
"It … doesn't matter now," he said and tried to smile. But there was something more.  
"Occasions. You mean there was more than one …"  
He nodded and his smile grew sadder. So after all, Barnaby had not been entirely honest with his daughter. He had left out bits of the story – but then, that really did not matter now.  
"You must report him."  
"NO!" was the very decided reply, "I could never do that."  
"Why not? He hurt you!"  
"He also threatened my career."  
"No, he wouldn't do that."  
"Oh yes, he would." Like he had threatened his life, hurt his feelings, destroyed what little there was left of his self-respect. Like he had invaded his daily routine - by menacing him at the station, tricking him into derelict houses or lonely woods or simply by coming round to his flat. At night. When he was asleep (if he was). On weekends. When he tried to find some peace.  
"Dad?!"  
He nodded again, unhappy to be the one to finally tell.  
"Gavin, I don't understand this."  
"Me neither."  
"Do you … like it?" That was a good question. And NO would have been the categoric answer, but after all Bernaby was his boss and he was far too scared or too much of a coward to stand up against him.  
He shrugged, "I got used to it".


	7. Chapter 7

He had been so damn submissive and dutiful even though he had hurt him. He had still come to work on time every morning. And he had covered up the agony and pain. Just his smile, the happy innocent smile that had once been so natural to him, had vanished.  
"I'm so sorry," he said, "I - can't undo what I did, what I've done to you but ..." The young man looked away and made an incoherent waving gesture croaking one word: "Why?" He knew why, and so did Tom. The other one's trust and obedience had tempted him and had pushed him into abusing them. Now, the young man's eyes looked at him, "I always did what you told me to".  
"I know."  
"Why?" Gavin repeated and, when he received no answer, shrugged, remembering the pain - the shame and the end of it, "I put in for transfer, so you ... can't ... not anymore".  
"But so late!" It sounded almost reproachful.  
"Are you telling me it's my fault?"  
"No, no - I'd never say that, but ... I'd like you to know that I'm sorry for ..."  
The younger man shivered at the apology and bit his lower lip, "You know that would have been all it'd taken ... I ... I wanted to be near you, just near you, even if -" Even if it had meant horrible things, sadistic fantasies taken out on a body so unaccustomed to pain, sick little games tying the man to him yet keeping him at an arm's distance. He felt sorry for what he had done to Gavin and moved closer, "May I kiss you?" Huge eyes looked at him in disbelief. And he read something else in them - fear. What had he done?  
"I won't hurt you. I promise," he vowed and the words made Gavin's blood run cold. Shivering, he remembered similar promises, all broken. Still, he did not back off, did not run. The older man's lips covered his and he shook under the unfamiliar softness of the touch, the gentle caresses on his arms, and he felt sick.  
"Sorry," he said and pushed the other one away, anxious to suddenly throw up, "I can't do this. It's wrong". His knees nearly gave way when he staggered off and out of the office building - ready to start a new life and scared of the old - and finally he emptied his stomach.


End file.
